


je veux dire: l'activité physique

by stiction



Series: The Language in Dimmer Rooms [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Intercrural Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2787626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stiction/pseuds/stiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well shit," Rose whispers into the heavy silence. "I didn't know I could do that."</p><p>Tumblr request, re: Rose finds out she can do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	je veux dire: l'activité physique

By the time they end up leaving the bar, Rose is crossing the threshold from giddy-drunk to handsy-drunk, tucked in close against Kanaya's side and letting her hands wander.

Every block or so she checks to make sure Rose hasn't snuck her fingers somewhere the general public doesn't need to know she sticks them, but it's difficult to keep track when Rose becomes half-dead weight, leaning heavily as they walk. It's barely a ten-minute walk when they're fresh-faced and ready to face the day, but now, at three in the morning, their little jaunt clocks in at almost half an hour.

Kanaya suspects that this has something to do with the way Rose is under the constant cyclic delusion that their rambling pace is a herculean effort that merits a lot of stopping "to take a breather". And no matter how many times Kanaya says "No. No. Keep going, no," Rose is determined to take a seat on the nearest stoop and believe wholeheartedly that they're already home. She manages to rattle three separate doorhandles by the halfway point, where Kanaya begins to contemplate whether or not carrying one's wife down the street at their age is acceptable.

She decides that it is.

Rose turns her attention to fawning over Kanaya then, making faces up at her and alternating between patting cheeks, trying to push the corners of her mouth up into smiles and frowns and half-and-halfs, and burying her face into the neckline of Kanaya's dress.

The absence of humanoid cleavage never seems to stop Rose from pretending that there are breasts present. Thankfully, the heat of the night only seems to produce sweat on Rose's brow, and Kanaya's limbs are cool enough to prevent the horrible stickiness that the hotter days of summer always invite.

Walking home is easier without all the dawdling, and as soon as Kanaya sets Rose back on her feet (hand on her back, of course, to prevent her inevitable wobble from becoming a stumble) she gets the door open, ushering Rose inside with a relieved sigh.

It has been a long night - first the drinks, then the next round of drinks, then a third, celebratory round (bought by Dave), the fourth (bought by Rose), and from there it was hard to tell whose tab the infinite shots and pints and glasses of colorful concoctions were put on. Sometimes Kanaya dreads human birthdays; twice as frequent as those of her group of friends, and, since the humans reached their tenth-and-a-half sweep mark, drenched in alcohol and thoroughly marked by memory loss, embarrassing photographs, and the morning-after ritual of waffles and ibuprofen for Rose.

Rose, who refuses to believe that there exists a sensible limit for her, and who therefore trespasses far beyond that limit every time she indulges in the drink of choice.

Rose, who also refuses to believe that steep staircases are perilous even for the most sober of individuals, and who therefore would immediately sprint to their floor if Kanaya was not there to grip her hand and lead her to the elevator.

Inside, Kanaya barely manages to hit the correct button before Rose pushes her up against the wall across from the sliding doors and shoves their mouths together, an open and sloppy kiss that tastes like pomegranate and the bitter edge of vodka. She can never decide if it's enjoyable or not, the way Rose comes at her when drunk, that is. It's certainly more overtly aggressive than normal, all grasping hands and a tongue that can't gauge her reactions well enough to react appropriately.

Most of the time Kanaya ends up a passive recipient, riding out the heavy, fumbling approaches of whoever Rose becomes when she drinks. Of course, no two drunk Roses are the same.

Rose plus wine equals a romantic, overdramatic Rose, a draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls Rose who straddles her in the bath and whispers volumes in her ear of how she smells of foxglove and other things that are likely not real.

Rose plus tequila equals a Rose that nobody talks about.  
  
The most common Rose, however, is the I've drunk everything that's been put in front of me Rose.

"Like mother, like daughter," Rose had murmured bitterly one late night, pouring Irish cream into her coffee and drinking deeply. Kanaya had taken her notebooks away and asked her very tactfully to go to bed for the night.

Tonight, Rose has drunk everything that's been put in front of her, as well as several things that she fetched for herself, and she is trying very hard to remove Kanaya's shirt from her pants, without realizing that Kanaya is wearing a dress that comes in one piece.

Blessedly, nobody is waiting for the elevator at quarter past three in the morning, and once the chime rings for their floor, Kanaya moves Rose's face from her chest and guides her out into the hall. The lock on their door is the easiest hurdle to cross, and Rose presses against her back, arms tight around her stomach, as they step over the threshold.

"Kanaya," she sighs. "Kanaya."

"Yes?"

Her words are muffled against Kanaya's back, but they sound suspiciously like 'we should definitely fuck'.

Well, Kanaya thinks. This would be a foul-mouthed Rose kind of night.

And normally, honestly, hearing something like that would have her halfway to ready - but tonight has been a long, long, night, and she hasn't had a sip of anything that would actually affect her, and tomorrow morning she has to set right in on a wedding commission with two very, very particular Alternian matesprits that will give her a worse headache than any amount of inebriative substances.

So she just kind of. Shrugs.

But Rose, eyes closed, of course, lets her hand wander upwards, where her breasts would be if she had any, ghosting instead over the raised freckles that dot her sternum and the rounds of her shoulders. As far as sensitivity goes, it's not far off from what might get her riled up, any other night, but she just doesn't have the energy.

"Teeth," Kanaya says instead, and - "Don't forget to take your makeup off."

Rose goes, shuffling slowly as soon as she flings her heels off and into the wall, to the bathroom. The water runs, briefly, and Kanaya listens to the sounds it makes. She can tell how long Rose spends scrubbing her teeth and then her face, and though it's not nearly as much time as normal, she supposes it'll have to do.

While her matesprit grooms, Kanaya wanders into the kitchen. If she recalls correctly, there's a barely touched bottle of some stronger fare in the fridge.

She recalls correctly.

As Rose is already finishing up her routine and will no doubt come sashaying in soon, Kanaya sizes up the sloshing viridian liquid and pulls the cork with her teeth. The first swig is thin and slicks her throat; on the second she remembers to shake the bottle, and the second sits thick on her tongue for a moment before it fizzes up and she swallows.

The third, she decides, is the last - she doesn't drink often enough to take her chances, and while that early morning appointment would be made a great deal easier if she was less sober, Kanaya refuses to risk putting the precision of her work in danger.

So she shoves the stopper back in, already feeling prickling warmth below her lungs, just as Rose leans in the kitchen doorway.

"Hello," Rose murmurs. The straps of her dress are pushed down, and Kanaya knows that later she will regret wearing her good stockings bare on the hardwood floor. Her face is still damp and slightly red, eyeliner smudges ringing her eyes. The lipstick, she managed to get off, her lips playing into a smile.

An undeniable surge of fondness fills Kanaya's chest, the undercurrent of arousal she had felt earlier drenched in it. She slips the bottle onto its shelf and shrugs out of her cardigan, dropping it onto a chair on her way out.

Rose hums and moans when Kanaya lifts her again, this time by the backs of her knees and then her ass. Her dress rucks up to her waist and her hands are warm on the back of Kanaya's neck as she grasps for purchase.

"Glad to see you've come around," she says, biting her lip before she leans in to bite Kanaya's.

Their kissing is clumsy, Rose enthusiastic and pushing hard with her tongue while Kanaya focuses on making the trip down the hall and into bed.

They make it - albeit with several little pauses against the walls of the main hallway, Rose twisting her fingers into the shorter hair at the nape of Kanaya's neck.

Her head is starting to swim now, limbs light, and she goes for broke, tossing Rose onto the bedspread the way they do in human movies and stripping her dress in half a second. She's not in the mood, not really, but Rose is staring at her with half-open eyes, rubbing her legs together and slipping her hands up under her dress, so.

So she knocks Rose's hands away, all business and if she sways a little bit there's nobody there that would notice. Rose lifts her hips in time for Kanaya to pull her stockings and panties down in one go, from top to toes. The dress is staying on; she is going to make this quick and as clean as possible, and then she is going to sleep, dammit.

She never forgets what Rose tastes like - and remembers all too vividly after an ill-planned tryst at a party a few years ago what Terezi leaned in to tell her in a lecherous whisper that Rose smelled like on her - but it's been a while, so much work and so little time to spend in the bedroom for anything but sleeping, and the taste is vivid now, heady and if she was not already bordering on drunk she's sure it would tip her over.

Rose's hands fist hard in her hair at the first long lick, her fangs skating lightly in the wake of her tongue.

"Fuck," Rose says, slow and quiet, and Kanaya looks up to meet her eyes while she traces downwards with the back of her tongue. "Kanaya, fuck, I swear to god..."

Her hands grab hard then at Kanaya's horns, pulling her face down, and Kanaya considers for a moment resisting, considers leaning out of reach and pinning Rose's hands and waiting until she sweetens her tone - and she would - but she remembers, yes, quick and hard and then sleep.

And she obliges, sliding her tongue in and up and Rose curses in an unintelligible whine, squeezing the bases of Kanaya's horns to the point of pain; without thinking, Kanaya's fingers dig into the other woman's hips, skin giving but almost certainly about to bruise. She's thankful for having groomed earlier that week, claws short enough not to break skin.

Kanaya does need to hold fast, too, as Rose squirms and pushes her hips up, talking incessantly at her, alternating quick between threats and coercion and a literal thousand promises to return the favor.

"Get up here," Rose pants suddenly, "Come on, baby, fuck, Kanaya."

She pulls no more gently than she pushed earlier, and Kanaya cannot bite back the rumble in her throat, more indignance than pain. Still she acquiesces, using her weight to press Rose into the comforter while Rose licks openmouthed into her lips.

Weight balanced carefully, Kanaya takes one hand to Rose's cunt and presses two fingers in, sliding quick and easy and Rose groans deep, voice sliding higher as she thrusts her hips up.

It's been a long time since Rose has fallen back on pet names but tonight she keeps a steady litany of _baby, baby, baby_ , interspersed with utterly unabashed requests - _yes, harder_ , and to Kanaya's unending chagrin considering the thin walls, _fuck me_. But she complies nonetheless, and she can't deny that there's a certain something about Rose with a loosened tongue that excites her; if there was more energy, more time to spare, Kanaya would do this all properly, lay Rose out and have her until she ran out of things to demand and her throat went hoarse.

Still, despite herself, Kanaya's focus narrows in on Rose, on Rose's voice and every move she makes. She puts her weight into the thrusts, thinking yes, harder, even as Rose says it, and pulls Rose's head back to bare her neck, sucking hard at the spot where her pulse throbs in time with her heart. Rose's body moves unconsciously, legs trembling as she pushes her hips up against Kanaya's fingers.

She barely realizes that she's started talking as well, only notices when Rose responds and their dialogue is hardly on par with their normal standards of eloquence and tact.

Her head swims, cheeks flushed warm and verdant - surely it's the alcohol talking, she doesn't say things like this, tell Rose to take it, how good she is and hot and (she swallows hard, gasps out) wet. Even as she talks Kanaya waits for Rose to pin her with a straight and sober gaze and ask her what in the hell she thinks she's doing, to laugh and show open disdain for that kind of filth.

But Rose doesn't, Rose just shakes and digs her nails into Kanaya's shoulderblades, gasping loud and nodding and saying yes, _yes_ , I can take it, give it to me, harder, yes -!

And Kanaya does it, harder than she's ever dared press, leaning so much into it that Rose ends up with her back bowed and Kanaya's thighs holding her hips up by the curve of her tailbone.

Rose's grip tightens, nails managing to scrape Kanaya's skin hard enough for a twinge of pain, and yes, she knows, she can feel how close Rose is, can smell it on her breath and in that rushing pulse that she outright licks now. She grinds harder with the heel of her palm, hand moving fast between Rose's spread legs.

"Fuck, oh, fuck me," Rose says, voice gone high, "Please, Kanaya, Kan, fuck..."

Kanaya breathes deep and she pulls Rose's hair hard enough to make her chin jut up and her neck stretches long and pale and Kanaya doesn't think, just settles her teeth along that pulse point and bites.

It's not hard, not nearly as hard as her gut begs her to, but Rose shouts, jerks hard, and comes.

Tongue slick with blood, Kanaya is hyperaware, shaking herself even as Rose does, and her hand is slick too, there is - a shiver runs down her entire body and that rumble from earlier is back in her throat. Rose's thighs are slick, she's come so much, and though this has never happened before it feels like what she has been waiting for since their first fumblings.

Kanaya's hand is soaked and as she draws her fingers out she realizes that the comforter is wet, and from there she doesn't have much rational thought. Her bulge, while it had been content in mild arousal, has slipped out in full without her noticing, and god, the smell of Rose is everywhere.

"Oh my god," she hears, and is not surprised to realize that she is saying it, she is groaning and tearing Rose's dress up over her head, shoving her own panties down. Rose fumbles to help as Kanaya lifts her legs and presses them together over one shoulder. Her hands are shaking, she can't stop it, Rose is so slick and this is exactly what she has missed on an atomic level.

Her bulge slips into the tight space between Rose's thighs and Kanaya almost chokes on the sweet sharp relief. She ruts hard and fast and she can't stop talking, thinks maybe she shouldn't have had so much to drink, then doesn't think at all, just wraps one arm tight around Rose's knees and shoves the other hand between her legs. She's slick too, and the feel of it only serves to remind her of Rose, Rose who has never, not in years, done that before.

Kanaya presses her face into the hard bone of Rose's ankle, sucks in shaking breath just thinking about fucking Rose like that, blissed-out and so wet it soaks the sheets. She hits that peak in record time, biting down again, shallow and quick and without breathing.

"Well shit," Rose whispers into the heavy silence. "I didn't know I could do that."

It's so hot in their bedroom, and Kanaya realizes slowly that they are ridiculously sticky. She finds herself laughing and unable to stop, burying her face in her hands and flopping to the bed at Rose's side.

"What?" Rose asks her, "What?"

But it only takes a moment for her to start laughing as well, rolling onto her side and pressing her mouth to Kanaya's, open and smiling.

"You are so drunk," Kanaya whispers in between giggling, tenderly brushing Rose's hair out of her eyes. "And I love you so much."

Rose wrinkles her nose, ducking her head to weasel into the curve between Kanaya's arm and her torso the way she only does normally when she thinks Kanaya's asleep already.

"Love you too," she mumbles with a face full of pillow, and like that, she's out. Kanaya follows momentarily, breathing deep and smelling Rose's perfume and the laundry detergent they use under everything else.

(The next morning Kanaya wakes to pure chaos. Rose's abdomen is a mess of jade and scratch marks, and she flushes straight down her chest when she sits up. She covers her face and Kanaya can't hear exactly what is being said but she does catch "Jesus christ Kanaya" and "the soreness of a thousand vigorous fucks".

She barely has time for a fast bath before her appointment, but she fetches a glass of water and shakes two pills out of Rose's favored brand of ibuprofen to set by the bedside.

"I'm so filthy," Rose mumbles, having finally made it under the sheets and using them as a shield against the sun slowly lighting the room.

Kanaya tuts, and kisses her forehead through the sheet.

"Take those, then take a bath," she says, unable to keep from smiling even as she flushes green. There's an ache in her thighs and her lower back that follows her throughout the day.

Several dozen texts of varying levels of explicit content fill in the spaces left, but Kanaya is particularly fond of the pictures Rose sends from the tub.


End file.
